Time War Interlude
by drox
Summary: Fitz and the Eighth Doctor enjoy a short break from the Time War. On a planet with lovely acoustics. Rated for cigarette smoking. It's not a normal cigarette.


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Time War interlude  
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"You're doing it wrong," Fitz grumbled.

The Doctor lowered his violin. "No I'm not," he grumbled back. "That was a near-perfect rendition of the second solo from Trothiac's _Temporalis_ Symphony. And it would have been _completely_ perfect if I weren't limited by this Humanian-era instrument."

"Perfect? Ego, Doctor."

"What? Oh."

"But, you see, that's _why_ you're doing it wrong."

"My ego? But Freud said-"

"Shush. Your ego's just fine!"

"That's right!" The Doctor looked puzzled. "How did you know?"

Fitz sighed. "It's not your ego. Hell, for a musician, an inflated ego is practically a given anyway. It's what you said before that. You're trying for _perfection_. Forget perfection. It doesn't need to be note-for-note perfect. You got to _feel _it in your _heart_."

"Both of them?"

"That'd be great, yeah. But even one would be an improvement. Your stuffy old Gallifreyan classical music-"

"The _Temporalis_ isn't stuffy!" the Doctor protested.

"That's beside the point."

"And it isn't Gallifreyan. Not exactly. Trothiac was a Monan. Created quite a scandal when she-"

"Beside the point again. You're trying to change the subject, aren't you?"

"And not succeeding, it seems." The Doctor lowered himself slowly into a sitting position, laying his violin aside carefully. "So go on then, tell me all the ways I fail as a musician."

"You're not a failure as a musician," Fitz said, in an effort to lighten the mood. "But you could stand to learn a thing or two about rock and roll."

"Rock and roll? Is_ that_ what this is about?" The Doctor brightened. "You should have said! When we're done here, I'll take you to Woodstock! You can see Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin... Did you know Janis gave me a coat once?" He rambled on excitedly. "I don't wear it though. It's much too long. Can't run in it without tripping, and, well, you know I do an awful lot of running. Maybe if I were taller it would-" His face fell. "On second thought, Woodstock might not be such a good idea. There are at least two of me there already, and we wouldn't want to stress the timelines too much. Especially not now that, that... oh great Rassilon, Fitz, what are we doing? This is so very wrong-"

It was Fitz's turn to change the subject. "Whoa, whoa!" he interrupted. They'd finally earned themselves a break from the Time Lords' ridiculous War, and it wouldn't do to have the Doctor dwelling on it. "Woodstock? Hey, maybe Janis Joplin can give you a lesson in rock and roll while you're there, and I dare say she'd do a better job than I could. But she's not here now, so you'll have to settle for me."

He sat down beside the Doctor, their long legs dangling over the edge of the flattish stone slab that the TARDIS had chosen as a landing site. Fitz thought the slab resembled a stage. Coupled with the acoustics in this canyon -- which were wonderful -- it had motivated Fitz to fetch his guitar out of the TARDIS and begin playing. The Doctor had followed suit, bringing his violin.

"So then. Rock and roll, lesson one. First rule: no rules." Fitz drew closer and moved to put his arm around the Doctor's shoulders, but the other man winced and pulled away. . He looked more frail than ever, like he might just topple over, but it was probably just because for the first time in weeks Fitz was seeing his friend without the bulky time-shielded battle armour that the Time Lords made him wear when they had some particularly dangerous assignment to send him on. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"No, no," the Doctor replied, moving closer again. "It's nothing. Just a bit jumpy I guess". He silently cursed his dodgy memory. Bits and pieces were coming back -- those memories of Woodstock for instance -- but so much was still missing. And something about Fitz just now made him shudder. The War was changing him, like it changed everyone it touched. Or maybe it was just that silly little beard he'd grown. Regardless of the cause, what Fitz was becoming reminded him painfully of... someone from long ago. The memory was gone now, like so much of his past. He put the thought aside and tried to concentrate on what his human companion was saying. A strange smell distracted him.

"Second rule:-"

"I thought there were no rules. And what's that smell? Are you _smoking_ again? I thought you'd quit."

"Um, yeah. I only quit because I ran out of cigarettes." He smirked. "Now I got more."

"Where did you find these then?"

"At our last mission briefing."

The Doctor's voice crept higher, as did his eyebrows. "You were out bumming cigarettes when you should have been listening to the mission briefing?"

"I didn't bum them. I _paid _for them. And it's not like I would have understood the briefing anyway. Crazy Time Lord maths-"

"You could have asked!"

"I don't need to, since _you _understand it all."

"I might not always be around. There_ is _a war on after all." He sniffed the air. "That's... not tobacco."

"No?" Fitz puffed and considered. "Well it's got my neurotransmitters fooled."

The Doctor reached over and grabbed the cigarette.

"Hey!"

"Definitely not tobacco," he said after a tentative puff. He took a long drag to make sure, rolling the smoke around in his mouth. "Though there are nicotine-analogues present. And..." the Doctor's brow furrowed as he catalogued the various chemicals in the smoke. "...Oh dear. Definitely not meant for humans, this." He ground the cigarette out.

_"Hey!"_

The Doctor ignored the outburst. "Who did you buy this from?"

"I don't know his name."

"Was he even human?"

"He _looked _human."

"_I _look human."

"Okay, there you are, then. Maybe he was another Time Lord. Does it matter?"

"It might." The Doctor thought it might matter a lot. The smoke wasn't meant for humans, but it seemed to have quite an effect on Time Lords. He felt lighter, colours looked more intense, and his body seemed to be having difficulty detoxifying the whatever-it-was.

"It might _not. _In any case I'm probably not going to fall over dead from it in the next hour or so. So can we get on with it?

"Get on with what?"

"Music lesson," Fitz replied with an eye-roll. "Rock and roll? Earth music? That is if you're done lecturing me on the evils of cigarettes."

"Never works anyway."

"You got that right. Besides, smoking gives me that all-important bad-boy image. And since I forgot what rock and roll rule number two was, I'll make_ that _the second rule. Image. You think you can look like a bad-boy rocker, Doc?"

"How's this?" The Doctor made a scowly face and Fitz laughed.

"Forget it!"

He struck an intimidating pose and Fitz laughed harder.

"It'll never work!"

He considered his velvet coat. "Maybe if I wore something else..."

"Your battle armour, perhaps?" Fitz shook his head. "It's very hard-core, but I don't even think that can help you. Besides, you play the _violin_. You might have to forget about rule number two."

"I think I'll do that. Especially since rule number one was 'no rules'."

"Was it? Oh... yeah." Fitz said. Let's just play music then, shall we?"

The Doctor would have been concerned that Fitz's weird cigarette was affecting his memory, if he weren't so amused by it instead. For some reason it now seemed very _very_ funny that Fitz was so forgetful. Maybe the two of them could start a support group for amnesiacs. Or a band! He stifled a giggle. They could start a rock band and call themselves the Amnesiacs!

There was a guitar playing somewhere and he realized Fitz had already started. He was picking out a simple rhythm to begin with, letting the Doctor join in when he was ready. This he did, playing soaring melodies and creepy dissonant passages, with occasional breaks to allow the guitar to take the lead. He imagined he could _feel_ the notes skittering along his synapses, or washing over his skin like waves. He was pretty sure some of it was rock and roll, and even if it wasn't, Fitz didn't seem to mind. The human sang some Earth songs about lost love, and eventually the Doctor put down his violin and sang a few Gallifreyan ones about something he couldn't quite remember. Probably maths. It didn't matter, because the words just sounded _good _and so did the music. On and on they played, for no one but themselves, and the Doctor was sure they had never sounded better, together or separate. If it wasn't real -- if it was just the effect of some psychoactive smoke -- well, he didn't really care. His system would clear it away eventually, and in the meantime he was going to enjoy it.

They enjoyed it until the sun set and it got dark enough that the light on top of the TARDIS wasn't enough to see by. They reluctantly gathered up their instruments and returned to the time ship. It was good to have music, friends, and a place to call home, even if home was a tiny blue box adrift in a very large and scary universe. And it was good to have some time away from the Time War. The TARDIS seemed reluctant to leave, but the Doctor was sure that even the screech of her dematerialisation sounded musical.


End file.
